


The Prodigal Daughter

by adumbledore



Series: As the World Watches [2]
Category: Enola Holmes (2020)
Genre: Engagement, Family, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:34:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27678838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adumbledore/pseuds/adumbledore
Summary: The Holmes family reacts to the news of Enola and Tewkesbury's engagement.
Relationships: Enola Holmes & Eudoria Vernet Holmes, Enola Holmes & Mycroft Holmes, Enola Holmes & Sherlock Holmes, Enola Holmes/Viscount "Tewky" Tewksbury
Series: As the World Watches [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024026
Comments: 25
Kudos: 451





	1. Sherlock

It’s a rainy morning in February when Sherlock opens the door of his flat to find Viscount Tewkesbury there. Mrs. Hudson isn’t with him; she had been shocked the first time he arrived, and for at least a year or so insisted on accompanying him up the stairs and announcing him with all the proper dignities. But after four years of friendship and frequent visits to the flat, Mrs. Hudson has resigned herself to just waving the lord up. 

“Hello,” Sherlock says to the viscount, who is holding his dripping hat in his hands, “I’m afraid Enola isn’t here”. 

“I know,” he says, and Sherlock tilts his head slightly. “I mean, well, I actually came by to speak with you”. He raises his eyebrows. In all the years of Tewkesbury’s friendship with Enola, neither he nor Sherlock have attempted to further their acquaintance. In light of this, the boy’s uncharacteristic awkwardness almost certainly means just one thing.

“Alright,” Sherlock says, stepping back to welcome him into the flat, “Do come in”. The lord hangs his hat and coat by the door, where a puddle of water begins to form beneath them. “Would you like any tea?” Sherlocks asks perfunctorily, and Tewkesbury shakes his head. They sit down, and then Sherlock looks at him expectantly.

“I’ve asked Enola to marry me” Tewksbury says very quickly, and it’s impossible to tell if the redness in his cheeks is from the nature of their conversation or the cold outdoors. 

“I see. And she’s accepted?” Of course she has. After an engagement, the young gentleman must have an audience with his betrothed’s guardian, and only then are they officially engaged. Tewkesbury wouldn’t be here if he had been turned down. 

“She has”. Sherlock thinks of what Mycroft would say in this situation.

“And you’ve come to beg my permission?” He enjoys watching the boy squirm.

“To ask for your formal approval, I suppose” Tewkesbury says after a moment, “I’m not sure the word permission is in Enola’s vocabulary”. Sherlock smiles slightly, a sign of great amusement for those who know him best. 

“Nor is the word beg, I believe. Once she has made up her mind my sister will always continue down that path, including, I’m sure, the matter of marriage . You have my blessing, even though we all know it to be superfluous”.

“Er-thank you”. Neither of them seem to want to be having this conversation. “I suppose then there is only a matter of the marriage settlement”. 

“Of course,” he had forgotten about that particular custom, these days used almost exclusively by the aristocracy. “I believe Enola spent a large portion of her dowry on running away with you years ago, and then Mycroft took the rest, although I’m sure he could be convinced to return it for its actual purpose”. Tewkesbury shrugged.

“I’d expect nothing less from her. Anyways, I’ll contact a lawyer in the next few days and we can set up a meeting”. They stand, shake hands, and the viscount takes his leave. Sherlock cares very little about the marriage settlement, knowing firstly that Enola would prefer to deal with matters herself, and secondly that Viscount Tewkesbury would offer a deal that was not only fair but probably too generous, he fully intends to simply sign whatever is handed to him. He's involved in this process as a formality, and all three of them know it. Enola can't get married without the permission of her legal guardian, but if she could, Sherlock is quite certain he'd only be hearing about it afterwards. It isn’t as if he has ever tried to manage their unconventional courtship before, and it would be slightly ridiculous to start now that they’re on the brink of marriage.

Tewkesbury has been coming by 221B Baker St to see Enola for years now, and, well, Sherlock hasn’t exactly been monitoring their every interaction like customs demands the guardian of a young woman do. Sherlock is well versed in the rules of propriety, but perhaps due to his own complete lack of interest in women, or romance of any sort, he has never understood the need for a chaperone. The point of supervising a young, single lady and gentleman is to protect the honour and virtue of the lady, whatever that truly meant. If by some loophole you could even consider Enola a lady, Sherlock felt she was quite capable of being responsible for herself. Also, she was stubborn and headstrong enough that he had no desire to attempt at forcing her to adhere to etiquette, and he was sure she shared his sentiments about not interfering with her personal life. 

During that brief spell after Enola turned eighteen and moved out in search of independence, her greatest complaint about the Ladies’ Boarding House she had moved to was that the Matron was obsessive about her tenant’s virtue. Men were unequivocally not allowed upstairs or in any private areas; any male caller could visit his acquaintance for a maximum of one half hour in the drawing room under the Matron’s watchful eye. (“ _ Even  _ Tewkesbury!” she had complained to Sherlock after meeting him for coffee, “I explained to her that he was different but she just wouldn’t listen!”) . More pressingly (although apparently second priority to Enola, who seemed upset only about her visits with Tewkesbury), the doors were locked at 11pm nightly, unless the tenant could prove, in advance, that she was attending a ball and accompanied by an appropriate chaperone: a married woman or male relative. The nature of detective work meant that Enola was frequently not home on time, and in response locked out. Several nights a week she ended up crashing at 221B Baker St anyways. 

After a few months, Enola had disheartenedly asked to move back in with Sherlock (“As a roommate,  _ not  _ a ward, and you had better not try to regulate my life”). He agreed benignly, refused to accept rent from her, and for the two years since then they had enjoyed a quiet cohabitation. They spoke to each other, of course, advised each other on cases and discussed current events, but they never tried to delve into each other’s personal lives. Or Sherlock never pried into Enola’s, because he didn’t really feel the need for a personal life, so he didn’t have much to tell anyways. 

The younger Holmes siblings were very much the same in how they attacked their detective work: with a ferocious, obsessive fervour that led to an intriguing case captivating their attention in its entirety, a compulsive need to consider the clues and pursue the leads that didn’t let up until the mystery was solved. They needed something to occupy their time in between cases. Sherlock had a cocaine habit, and Enola, well, Enola had a Viscount Tewkesbury habit. In between Enola’s characteristically Holmes-like spells of single-minded fanaticism, she was nearly always in the company of the young lord.

“Oh my God, you’re Sherlock Holmes!” Tewkesbury had said when they first met, years ago, and Sherlock had felt only the tiniest bit of satisfaction, as he always did, that even society’s elites, raised to expect the entire world on a silver platter, found themselves awed by his presence. And like she always had, in those early years before people started recognizing her as well, Enola scowled. 

“You already knew that!” she said petulantly, and then stepped on her friend’s foot. “He’ll still be there even if you glance away from him for a second”. But just as Mrs. Hudson has grown accustomed to the visits of a marquess, Tewkesbury has since grown accustomed to the presence of the great detective. 

When Enola finally comes home the next day with a large diamond ring on her finger, Sherlock is nothing if not amused. 

“You’re going to wear that while fighting crime?” He asks her, and she glares at him. 

“No. It was his mother’s and she wants me to have it. I’ll get a more practical one”.

“And this will be your party ring? For balls and dinner parties and all your marchioness duties?” Enola scowled. 

“I don’t plan to do any marchioness duties!” 

“Oh? And who will then?” 

“Tewkesbury’s mother can just keep on doing what she’s been doing”. 

“And how will the aristocracy feel about that?”

“Oh my  _ god  _ Sherlock! Can’t you just say congratulations and be done with it?”

“Congratulations, then”. He pauses. She’s just too easy to get riled up, and he can never quite help himself. “And how will you introduce yourself to your clients?” She glares at him, then puts on a pompous air. 

“Easy. Viscountess Tewkesbury, the Marchioness of Basilweather, Lady Detective”. Of course she would. Vicountess, Marchioness, detective indeed. 

  
  



	2. Eudoria

It is a brief respite in Eudoria’s chaotic world to read the personals each morning in  _ the Pall Gazette  _ for messages from Enola. Since the very first message she received, four years ago, just days after Enola’s sixteenth birthday, Eudoria has cut out the important messages and kept them to review. Today’s is the most extraordinary she’s ever received. After decoding enola’s message, it reads:

“Chrysanthemum, I send bellflowers. I plan to grow philox and ivy alongside my anthurium. Your cinquefoil”.

_ Chrysanthemum _ : love, well-wishes, and, for Enola and Eudoria, it means Mother.  _ Bellflowers:  _ I wish to speak with you.  _ Philox: _ agreements, the uniting of heart and soul.  _ Ivy:  _ eternity and fidelity, and so often associated with marriage.  _ Anthurium:  _ long-lasting friendship and love.  _ Cinquefoil:  _ Beloved daughter, how Enola always signs her messages. Altogether, it reads  _ “Mother, please come see me. Tewkesbury and I are engaged. Enola”.  _

Her daughter is getting married. Eudoria frantically rummages around for the scissors, and when she can’t find them, desperately tears the notice out of the paper by hand. She rarely gets to see her daughter now. It’s a choice that she’s made and it’s a choice that she’ll live with, but still, she has to hold onto every little thing she can get. So the big messages from Enola, the important ones, go into a little box. She pulls it out, and begins to read from the beginning.

“My Chrysanthemum, are you blooming? Send iris please”. 

The first one. Enola had been so young then, but already so selfless, so resourceful. Sixteen years old and alone in the busiest city in the world, but worried about her mother all the same. 

“Chrysanthemum, I have laurel! The restharrow has died, the flytrap has closed, and I think my daphne is just about to bloom”. 

_ Laurel:  _ success.  _ Restharrow:  _ obstacle.  _ Flytrap:  _ caught at last.  _ Daphne:  _ fame. The message was “I was successful! I got rid of the obstacle, I caught the criminal, and I think I'm about to be famous”.

And she had been. That was her first major case, other than finding the Viscount a few months earlier. The first big one that she had actually been hired to solve. And my god, the newspapers had gone crazy.  _ The Holmes: a family of geniuses.  _ Decades ago, the world had been captivated by young detective Sherlock Holmes, and since then they had esteemed him as a great phenomenon. Now that his sister was proven to have the same skill, he wasn’t an individual anomaly anymore. It ran in his blood. And everyone had wanted to know where it came from. 

Sherlock had only made one public statement about it, after being accosted by reporters: 

“She’s a talented kid”.

Short, to the point, and, although the general public wouldn’t have realized, uncharacteristically emotional. Mycroft, the newspapers reported, refused outright, with increasing levels of hostility, to comment on any level. Completely unsurprising, although Eudoria would’ve loved (and hated) to hear her eldest son’s thoughts on Enola’s independence. And Enola, well, the next message would sum that up better than Eudoria could. 

A few weeks later, the message had read: “Chrysanthemum, my fish geranium grows in pace with the horseshoe geranium of London, but it will not kill my larch or white hollyhock”. 

_ Fish geranium:  _ disappointed expectations.  _ Horseshoe geranium _ : stupidity.  _ Larch:  _ boldness.  _ White hollyhock:  _ female ambition. A particular favourite of Eudoria’s. The message meant something like “the people of London’s stupidity has disappointed my expectations, but my boldness and ambition won’t be tempered. 

Enola had lost a great deal of her initial charm with the public when she, to Eudoria’s delight, screamed at a group of reporters who had only asked her about her clothes and Sherlock’s influence on her, instead of the case and her actual investigative work. She had been with someone the newspapers called “a well-dressed but unidentified young man who laughed as Miss Holmes insulted the journalists”. Regardless of that particular faux pas, she had definitively imprinted her name on the list of respected private investigators, and even if most clients first asked for Sherlock or those detectives with more experience, some of the cases ended up with Enola. 

“Chrysanthemum,” she had once sent, “the tamarisk is with much sea-bindwood. But I have geranium and thereby lauristinius”. 

_ Tamarisk:  _ crime.  _ Sea-bindwood:  _ uncertainty.  _ Geranium _ : true friendship.  _ Lauristinius:  _ cheerful in adversity. “Mother, I am uncertain about this case. But I have true friendship and so I am cheerful in adversity”. The first of many mentions of Tewkesbury in Enola’s communications. Eudoria really hadn’t thought too much of it at the time, except for assuming the “true friendship” referred to the viscount, mainly because she didn’t think Enola had any other friends.

Then, years down the line, a message had come that read: “Oh, Chrysanthemum, I think I have accidentally grown pink alstroemeria. He has given me nothing but scarlet zinnia, but I have wild tansy too. I do not want his fritillaria.-Cinquefoil”.

_ Pink alstroemeria:  _ friendship that has turned to love.  _ Scarlet zinnia:  _ constancy.  _ Wild tansy: _ resistance.  _ Fritillaria:  _ high rank of birth. And  _ Cinquefoil,  _ which had by that point become Enola’s name in their messages, meant beloved daughter. Essentially, “I accidentally turned a friendship into love. He is constant but I have reservations, I don’t want his high rank”.

Through the newspaper personals section, Eudoria’s most beloved child had told her “I think I’m in love with my best friend”, and Eudoria had cried. It wasn’t that she hadn’t thought through leaving; she had considered it and reconsidered it every day for ten years while raising Enola alone. But that didn’t stop her from that stinging sense of loss, of everything she didn’t get to see her daughter through. Everything they didn’t get to experience. 

She should be there. If she were there, with Enola, she would have known months ago, months before the girl even knew it herself. And when Enola confided in her she would have been able to smile knowingly and say “of course you are”. And oh, the poor dear seemed so uncertain. No one could ever be prepared for their first love. There was no instruction manual for that feeling you get when your entire soul seems to be connected to someone. Enola, like every other young lover, seemed so unsure of what to do, scared, almost, of such a feeling. That was supposed to be what a mother was for. To comfort and support and maybe protect, if all did not go well. 

But Eudoria wasn’t there, because, as she reminded herself, the most important duty of the parent was to secure a good future for their children. And Sherlock and Mycroft, though she loved them as a mother must, were men. Providing a future for them was easy- all she needed to do was give them an education. She and their father had sent them off to university and that was that. They had done very well for themselves. But a girl was different. A girl, if one wasn’t very careful, would be primped and preened and pushed around like a doll and then you would blink, and twenty years later she’s some powerless wife in an unequal, loveless marriage. Eudoria would know.

She had been determined from the moment of her daughter’s birth that their fate would not be the same. Her husband had been a bit of a barrier, wanting his daughter to become a proper young lady, but, well, that obstacle had been removed before he could make his mark on Enola… In any case, Eudoria had taken every care she possibly could to raise a strong-willed, independent young woman, and she had certainly been successful. 

Now Enola had been formed and shaped and molded, but Eudoria’s job wasn’t done. She had a duty to fight for a world where her daughter was able to be her own person. She had a duty to fight for a world in which a brilliant, strong, self-sufficient woman like Enola was not just accepted, but  _ celebrated _ . She couldn’t settle for any less, even if it meant missing out on milestones or neglecting the more emotional role of a parent. She would do what it takes for her daughter. She had certainly always done what it had taken…

And now, Enola is getting married. Eudoria feels another wave of comprehension of the enormousness of the sacrifice she is making. The sacrifice they’re all making.  _ I send bellflowers,  _ Enola’s message reads,  _ I want to see you.  _ The poor young woman, twenty years old, just wants to see her mom before she gets married. Eudoria doesn’t get to participate in her daughter’s coming of age, but how much worse must it be to do so without any parent at all! Enola didn’t ask for this, Eudoria thinks sadly, Enola had to become an adult without her mother and she had no choice in the matter at all. Still, it’s worth it for the liberation of women, the liberation of Enola, and Eudoria knows that. She has to be content with this. Enola has to be content with this, even if she didn’t get a say.

She will visit her daughter soon, hopefully. Before the wedding. That much she can do. She pens a response, to take to the paper later today:

“Cinquefoil: I have no sundews, but my cape jasmine and pink carnations are blooming. You will grow peonies. Will send chickweed soon. Love Chrysanthemum”

_ Sundew:  _ surprise.  _ Cape Jasmine:  _ I am too happy.  _ Pink Carnations:  _ a mother’s love.  _ Peonies:  _ happy life and happy marriage.  _ Volkamenia:  _ May you be happy.  _ Chickweed:  _ rendezvous. So the translation is something like “Enola, I’m not surprised but I am very happy and I love you very much. You will have a happy life and happy marriage. I will see you soon. Love Mother”

The formal marriage announcement is in the paper next week;

_ “Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Mr. Mycroft Holmes are pleased to announce the engagement of their sister Miss Enola Holmes to the Marquess of Basilwether, Viscount Tewkesbury, son of Lady Basilwether and the late Lord Basilwether. The wedding will take place on a yet to be determined day in June. _ ”

Eudoria laughs when she reads it. Viscount Tewkesbury’s name has, of course, never been explicitly mentioned in their correspondences, but there has never been any doubt that he has been the young man in question, if only because Enola has very few proper friends. But seeing it all spelled out like this, his titles listed next to his parents, it suddenly dawns on her that her daughter is going to become a marchioness. How unbelievably, incredibly ironic. 

Eudoria has only ever wanted to prevent her daughter from the high society marriage. The London marriage mart, the suitable match, becoming husband and wife as an economic transaction, it was all sufficiently nauseating. She was quite certain she had ensured Enola would never consent to being traded away in exchange for money or alliances or power, and so she had always taken as fact that her daughter would not marry into such mercenary circles. Of course, Eudoria has her own choice opinions on the ethics of the institution of marriage as a whole, but she would never have begrudged her daughter a love match. 

This is, of course, exactly that. Enola has become more and more explicit about her own feelings, and there can be no doubt that such a high ranking man would marry such a wild woman for anything less than love. And how deliciously ironic that, by falling in love, Enola has made that high-ranking marriage that Eudoria never wanted for her, so that she had the opportunity for love! But then again, it was Viscount Tewkesbury who was the deciding vote on that reform bill, years ago. It has been Viscount Tewkesbury who has, in the four years since then, been one of the staunchest supporters of equality in the House of Lords. Eudoria can have no complaints about her daughter’s choice of groom, although she does not know him well. He has proven himself, time and time again, not to be the average marquess, which is good, because if there’s one thing Eudoria knows, it’s that Enola will not be an average marchioness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sources for victorian flower language:
> 
> http://www.avictorian.com/flowers/flowernames.html
> 
> http://www.daleharvey.com/Directory/articles-of-interest/LANGUAGE+OF+FLOWERS/Meaning+of+Flowers.html


	3. Mycroft

Mycroft is sitting in his study, hard at work as always, trying to prevent the government from falling into complete disarray. There is a short knock at the door, and, after he calls his assent, the maid scurries in with a small, folded note.

_ This is to inform you of my engagement to Viscount Tewkesbury-Enola H. _

He nearly falls over. Years ago, when Enola had first run away, Mycroft had quipped to Sherlock that the viscount should marry her. He had, of course, been joking. The very idea was absurd. As a marquess, regardless of any personal friendship, Tewkesbury would only consider an exceptionally accomplished, charming, polite, and wealthy young lady. Anything else would be entirely absurd. And Enola is none of those things. 

Granted, he has had very little interaction with his sister these past four years since their mother disappeared. And-what a lovely note! Short, straight to the point, unemotional. A lovely engagement announcement. It is, perhaps, possible that she has grown into the refined and elegant young lady he hoped she might. But it is entirely unlikely (especially with everything he’s read about her in the newspaper). In the meetings they have had, it’s seemed Enola’s unruly tendencies have not tempered over the years-quite the contrary, in fact. She’s grown more and more wild. 

Not that he’s complaining, of course. This is very good for Mycroft, very good indeed. Now, instead of being associated with a runaway turned crusading feminist and lady detective, he will be the brother of a marchioness. This means  _ wonderful  _ things for the Holmes name. Somehow, even though she cannot have intended it, Enola has made a choice that suited him wonderfully.

A few days later, he sets out to 221B Baker St to congratulate his sister, as is polite. He knocks on the door, which is answered by his brother’s landlady.

“Mr. Holmes!” She says, surprise evident. “Do come in. I’ll show you up to the flat”. He follows as she bustles up the stairs and knocks at the door before opening it. 

“Mr. Mycroft Holmes” She announces, and both his siblings look up.

Their flat is a mess. Enola is sitting on the couch with a book in her hands, while Sherlock sits at what must have been the dining table, buried in stacks of papers. Even from here, he can see the dishes piling up in their kitchen. 

“Why not employ a maid?” He asks in disgust. “You can certainly afford it Sherlock, I know what you charge your clients”. His brother doesn’t respond. Enola puts her book down. 

“Hello, Mycroft. Skipping the pleasantries I see”.

“Not at all, dear sister, I came to congratulate you on your engagement”. She seems taken aback. Sherlock is still staring at his papers.

“Oh. Thank you”. He sits down in an armchair across from Enola, who is lounging in a most unladylike manner, with her legs sprawled across the couch, instead of planted gracefully on the ground. He bites his tongue, resisting the urge to correct her, and she watches him with a hint of wariness.

“I’m very proud of you Enola,” he says, and he genuinely means it. “You’re finally settling down and recognizing your duties”. She looks at him simply.

“I really don’t see it as such”. Oh well. Regardless of what she tells herself, she is finally making womanly decisions, which is all Mycroft has wanted for her all along. Just for a second, he feels the need to prove himself right. 

“You see? I was right, all along. This is what you want- to be a wife. This is how you’ll be happy”. Enola’s eyes shoot daggers.

“You were right about no such thing! I have no desire to  _ be a wife _ . What I want, and what I am doing, is to spend my life with a specific person whom I care about”. He sighs. An irrelevant distinction.

“All the same you will be a wife, with all of its tenets and implications. You are leaving behind your so-called career and the rest of your progressive nonsense in pursuit of matrimony”. She scowls, her sour expression somehow identical to every time he has seen her displeased in the course of her life.

“I am not! I have no intention to quit working just because I’m to be married, or change anything in my life except my name and address, for that matter”.

“Oh?” Mycroft says, feeling rather faint. “Then why marry?”

“I’ve already told you, Mycroft!” She spits, “The draw isn’t marriage. It’s love”. He is momentarily dumbfounded. What an absurd notion! But no matter- Enola may not have been tamed, but as long as Tewkesbury doesn’t change his mind before they make it to the chapel (a growing concern for Mycroft, quite frankly), it’s hardly his concern any longer. 

“Very well. Has your marriage settlement been agreed upon yet?” 

“It remains in negotiation”. Enola’s tone is still hostile. 

“Good,” he turns to look at his brother. “Sherlock, which lawyer have you employed for the settlement?” The detective doesn’t look up from his work. “Sherlock?” No response. “Excuse me?”

“He’s working on a case,” says Enola firmly.

“Well he can bloody well step away for one minute!” Sherlock finally looks up, face neutral as ever.

“It’s a murder, Mycroft”. He’s unphased.

“Which is the least urgent of crimes, given that the victim can’t get any more dead”. Sherlock raises his eyebrows, but acquiesces and joins his siblings, shoving Enola’s legs off the couch and taking a seat. 

“Yes?”

“Which lawyer have you employed for Enola’s marriage settlement?” He repeats.

“I haven’t”. Dear God, he can’t be serious. “In fact I don’t know anything about it. Enola’s handling it”. Mycroft says a silent prayer for the future of their family. It’s not even that he’s allowing a young woman to arrange her own settlement, which is ludicrous all on its own, but Mycroft would still have been horrified if it had been Sherlock doing the arbitrating without legal aid. Marriage settlements are immensely complex and vital contracts, meant to protect a bride and any future children from the whims of her husband and his family. An imperfect settlement can be disastrous; even for those who, like Enola, preach about love. Everyone knows this, apparently excluding his siblings, even Mycroft, who has never particularly  _ liked  _ women. 

“Marriage settlements are not to be taken lightly,” he warns. “It’s an extremely complicated business. You can’t just do it yourself. You need a lawyer”.

“I can handle myself”. Enola says stubbornly, and Mycroft bites his tongue. Arguing has only ever served to aggravate her, and while he’s willing to start a fight about a great many things, this is too important. She doesn’t listen when she’s angry, and for once in her life he really,  _ really  _ needs her to listen. 

Mycroft is astute enough to know that his sister’s little feminist ideals slip into her work. She brands herself as a ‘lady detective’, not just because she is a lady, but because she caters to the more discreet cases of women. What few of these make it into the newspaper are all suspicious: the sudden disappearance of wealthy women who have been denied a divorce or the theft of family assets withheld from widows and their children. Enola is hired to resolve these cases, and she does so cleanly, in a way that always benefits the women involved, presenting explanations that go largely unquestioned by police and media. It’s abdundantly clear to Mycroft that she is exploiting her position as a private investigator to provide some sense of justice to these women, and he can’t fathom how no one else seems to have caught on. But then, Mycroft is a Holmes like the rest of them, even if he isn’t quite so gifted as the younger siblings. 

“Enola, surely in your… detective work… you have encountered enough battered wives to know the consequences of a poorly negotiated marriage settlement”. Enola falters- he’s hit on target. All of those  _ poor unfortune  _ women would never have needed Enola’s services if they had just ensured a good settlement upon their marriage. 

“I…” He seizes upon her hesitation.

“-will not sign  _ anything  _ before a lawyer looks at it. Agreed?”

“Fine,” Enola huffs, and Sherlock just shrugs. How can he be so apathetic? 

“I’ll schedule a meeting with the viscount’s lawyers in the next days- Lord knows his family will be protecting their interests.  _ Even if, _ ” -he adds quickly, when Enola opens her mouth to object- “he himself doesn’t care to,” -which Mycroft seriously doubts- “his relatives will ensure it”. Enola is faintly glaring again, but if she disagrees she doesn’t voice it. More likely, she’s upset with the reminder about reality, that the world exists outside of her and her fiance. “Now, when is the announcement being released?” Both Sherlock and Enola stare blankly at him.

“Pardon me?” she asks.

“Good God” says Mycroft. For a pair of geniuses, his siblings can be entirely daft sometimes. “Do you two know nothing?” Enola and Sherlock glance at each other like they’re sharing some private joke. They aren’t. Mycroft is well aware of the high opinion they hold of their own intelligence, it just so happens he doesn’t share it. “The marriage announcement?” Enola rolls her eyes.

“Everyone I know has already been told”.

“It’s not for the people you know, it’s for the people you don’t! You must submit an announcement of engagement to the newspapers at least a month or two before the wedding”. 

“That’s nonsensical”. Mycroft nods. He’ll give her that.

“It may well be. But it’s also customary, and there’s value in tradition for tradition’s sake”. She wrinkles her nose.

“Not really”. Is she always contrary on purpose, just to frustrate him?

“It is nonetheless the responsibility of the bride’s family to submit the announcement”. Both his siblings are just looking at him, and realization dawns. “You two aren’t going to do it, are you?” They glance at each other and have some sort of silent exchange. Then Sherlock turns back to Mycroft.

“Probably not, no”. 

They’re hopeless. 

In the end, it’s Mycroft who arranges nearly everything. He submits an announcement to the papers ( _ Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Mr. Mycroft Holmes are pleased to announce the engagement of their sister Miss Enola Holmes to the Marquess of Basilwether, Viscount Tewkesbury, son of Lady Basilwether and the late Lord Basilwether. The wedding will take place on a yet to be determined day in June _ ). He hires a legal team for the marriage settlement, which is ultimately negotiated in a very uncomfortable meeting between him, Enola, Viscount Tewkesbury, and their respective lawyers. He forks up what’s left of her dowry (and not a penny more, because she made the decision to spend it and she’ll live with that). Although he would absolutely never have pictured himself  _ wedding planning _ , he does review the logistics in the preceding weeks, just incase Enola and her betrothed have forgotten something stupid, like purchasing the marriage license or booking the vicar. Mycroft and Enola have never gotten along, but if she’s going to become a marchioness, he’ll be damned if she doesn’t do it right. 

Several months later, he encounters Viscountess Tewkesbury, the Marchioness of Basilwether, chasing after a baby goat (yes, a goat) in a square somewhere. It’s completely undignified, not to mention absurd, and it is made all the more humiliating by the fact that he is currently with three parliamentary colleagues. As of late, he has admittedly been using his connection to the nobility to his advantage, and this display of impropriety is eroding his newfound status. As England’s foremost Lady Detective, Enola is quite recognizable, so there’s not even the chance of ignoring her and denying connection.

“Enola!” He hisses. “What on earth are you doing?” She catches the goat, wrapping her arms around it and standing. Her hair is falling down, there is dirt smeared across her left cheekbone, and the goat is kicking against her, muddy hooves splattering muck all over her already unclean dress. 

“Hello Mycroft!” she says brightly. “This goat belongs to one of my clients. I promised I’d get it back”. He can tangibly feel his colleagues' respect disintegrating, crumbling more with each passing second. 

“You are an embarrassment”. Enola looks up at him, away from the struggling goat in her arms. She grins.

“That’s Your Ladyship to you!” Mycroft’s face drops.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your support of the previous couple chapters, especially those of you who commented!! There's nothing more motivational than knowing that someone out there actually enjoys your writing.   
> I'm unlikely to post anything new in the next couple weeks because I have finals, but rest assured there are several story ideas floating around in my head that I will probably write at Christmas break.


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